


Broken

by anathemafen



Series: Dark AUs [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: All the warnings, Alternate Universe - Dark, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bad Templars (Dragon Age), But writing violence and making my characters suffer is therapeutic, Dark Cullen, Dark Cullen Rutherford, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Knight-Commander Cullen - Freeform, Mages and Templars, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Read at your own discretion, Violence, i don't really know where this is going, very dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-17 05:08:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14181429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anathemafen/pseuds/anathemafen
Summary: A *very dark* AU in which Cullen is Knight-Commander of the Kirkwall Circle, a female mage Lavellan (or Surana, or Mahariel, or whatever elf character ya want) is captured and brought in. Dark Cullen is amused at her tenacity and refusal to submit, but in his efforts to break her, he finds himself becoming intrigued by the fiery elf with no markings and too many scars.





	1. Not Sure You Do

The small elf sat slumped before his desk on her knees, hands shackled behind her back, a bruise blossoming on her cheek and blood dripping from her nose. But her eyes. Her eyes were green fire, small emeralds that gleamed with malice as they met his, malice where he had expected fear, anger where he had expected exhaustion, flames where he had expected tears. 

The Knight-Commander grinned. 

“Where did you find this one?” he asked standing up from the missive he had been reading and making his way leisurely around the large desk. 

“Wandering along the coast, Ser,” Arwel, one of the two Templars informed him. “Scrappy little thing put up quite the fight when we approached her.” 

Cullen huffed. He had guessed as much when they’d come dragging her into his office, Arwel favouring his left side with a nasty looking gash above his left eyebrow and Bran sporting what had to be a broken nose. 

He crouched down in front of her, her fiery gaze never leaving his eyes and he chuckled in amusement grasping a small strand of her long dark hair between his fingers. 

“You’ve already been caught,” he told her and somehow her glare became even more potent. Cullen grinned back. This was new. He was used to fear from mages, perhaps the occasional defiant look that could easily be beaten out, but never pure hatred and never no hint of fear. This was interesting. 

“What’s your name?” he asked her trailing his eyes along her features, smudged with blood as they were. She was quite striking, the type of beauty only an elf carried. Her long mussed hair lent her a wild appearance, only the points of pale ears sticking out of it and he resisted the urge to run a finger along them. He wanted to see her tremble. 

She responded by narrowing her eyes at him. Cullen cocked an eyebrow. 

“You’re not Dalish, you have no outside protection. You have been brought in rightfully by the Templar Order, apostate, and your mana is so low by all accounts you should be passed out,” he said. “Whether this goes one way or another is entirely up to you. And considering you used offensive magic on two of my men, the Rite of Tranquility is not off the table.” 

The elf stiffened and bared her teeth at him but responded, “Nira.” 

“Nira,” Cullen smiled taking her chin in his hand. “Welcome to the Circle. I’m Knight-Commander Cullen, and you are no longer permitted to cast unless explicitly given permission to do so. Do you understand?” 

Nira pulled her chin from his grasp. 

“Sure, Knight-Commander, _I understand_ ,” she responded melodiously, dangerously, scathingly. Cullen smirked. 

“Not sure you do, elf. But you will soon,” he stood up. “Get Knight-Captain Rylen to escort her to the Harrowing chamber and then go get cleaned up.” He told the two Templars without taking his eyes off Nira. 

Patience had never been one of his virtues. And he was very eager to dampen the fire in Nira’s eyes – not entirely, but just enough so she would know, like they all knew, that he, Knight-Commander Cullen, was in charge.


	2. Harrowing

The Harrowing Chamber was always ten degrees cooler than the rest of the Tower and deadly silent. The Templars stood in an orderly line though, waiting patiently and at attention. Cullen suspected it had more to do with him being present than their actual dedication to the affair. He had attended these before, of course, less so now because of his high rank, but he felt a tug of curiosity regarding the fire-eyed mage and excused the Knight-Captain for the night.

The Grand Enchanter walked in with Nira, the bruise on her face now purple and the cut on her lip slightly swollen. But her eyes were still green fire and she walked with a dangerous grace despite remaining cuffed.

When the Grand Enchanter finished explaining to her what the Harrowing entailed she quirked an eyebrow.

“That’s it?” she asked flatly, melodious but biting.

He heard some of the Templars shifting behind him but his focus was sharp on her. It had been years since anyone had dared to be so spirited in his presence, especially a mage. He wasn’t sure whether to be disgusted at her insolence or impressed with her courage.

She looked over at him meeting his eyes, a small upturn of her lips and then she wiggled her fingers within the cuffs behind her back.

“You won’t need your physical hands when you are traversing the Fade,” he responded patiently, a hand on the hilt of his sword, his tone nearing on condescending that had her eyes glinting.

“Well, mind pouring that vial down my throat then, Knight-Commander?” she asked and the Grand Enchanter spluttered.

“I apologize, Knight-Commander, she is-”

“No need,” Cullen responded holding up a hand. But because he wanted to, and he hadn’t really wanted to do anything the past ten years since he’d become the untouchable Knight-Commander he walked over and plucked the vial of Lyrium from its stand.

Nira’s eyebrows rose and she tilted her head as he neared, but she didn’t back away as he expected her to. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to force her to her knees in front of him or burn in the green fire of her gaze.

He uncorked the vial and placed a finger underneath her chin tilting her head upwards. She was so much smaller than him he could tip it without having to raise his arm above his chest.

“Open up,” he told her and she smirked before her pink lips parted. He tipped the vial to her lips, reveling in the sight of her throat bobbing as she drank it all down. When a drop escaped as he pulled it away she licked it off slowly, maintaining eye contact and Cullen shook his head but let out a small smirk.

Even the way she began to fall unconscious was delicious, her eyes fluttering shut as her chest heaved out with a deep Lyrium-scented breath and the Grand Enchanter stepped in to catch her, gently laying her down to the stones. The old man glanced up at Cullen with an apologetic look in his eyes before darting them back to her.

He almost felt bad for the man, having to watch over these rituals whenever a mage was called, catching each and every one of them before gently laying them to the ground, and then waiting to see if one of his charges would wake up successfully or if he’d be cleaning their blood off his robes later that night.

But Cullen knew it was the safest route to keeping mages in line, to keep the streets safe from their magic, to keep the power no mortal being should wield locked up where it could be leashed and kept tight. Controlled. Disciplined.

He stepped back and turned his gaze upon Nira, placed on her side, her knees pulled up unconsciously and head bowed. He traced the curves of her ass in the tight tunic and elven leggings she had been captured in and thought about letting her keep them rather than garb her in the long robes the other mages had.

Her breathing was slow and steady, and a strand of hair had fallen into her face fluttering with each exhale. Cullen wanted to tuck it back behind her delicate pointed ears, he wanted to fist his hand in her hair, he wanted to see her moan...

Mages were given four hours to complete their Harrowing, otherwise they would be presumed lost to the Fade and their bodies destroyed lest an abomination crawled through. The average Harrowing would take 2 ½ hours.

Nira woke up after 30 minutes.

The Templar in charge of swinging the killing blow tensed, raising his sword. She raised her head awkwardly shifting to a sitting position with her hands still cuffed.  
“Nira?” the Grand Enchanter asked tentatively and she yawned, _the elf yawned_ before nodding.

“Yup,” she replied.

“You should really move a mattress or something in here,” she said indignantly looking up at Cullen. “Bad enough you lock ‘em up, have to give them back problems too?”

She stretched her neck until it let out a satisfying pop and sighed.

The Templars behind him were shifting again, the one in charge of swinging the final blow still gripping his sword, holding it halfway up in the air. Nira turned her green eyes on him and narrowed them.

“Do I look like an abomination to you?” she snapped but he didn’t lower the weapon instead looking to Cullen.

“What did you see?” he demanded and his tone was hard, he had never seen such a quick Harrowing.

 _Demon demon demon_. It rang through his head, loud warning bells that couldn’t be silenced.

“Well let’s see,” Nira sighed as if thinking what she had eaten for dinner. Cullen felt his patience wearing thin. “There was Sloth, big tired guy, didn’t want to talk much. And then there was Rage who was actually quite nice, if a little grumpy. Do you keep them on hire or something?”

Cullen was before her in two long strides, his anger flaring as he backhanded her.

“The Harrowing is a sacred ritual,” he growled. “No one has ever come out of it as fast as you. Explain or I will cut you down myself.”

She turned her head back to him, all glinting eyes and elvhen beauty and she smiled dangerously before spitting out blood onto the stones, just barely missing his boots.

“I’m _I’ve’an’virelan_ ,” she answered, her voice slightly slurred by the blow. “A Dreamer, a Fade-Walker.”

Cullen looked up to the Grand Enchanter who stood with thinned lips and a pale complexion. He met Cullen’s gaze for an instant and then nodded.

“It is rare, but she is of elvhen blood.”

Cullen looked back down at Nira, a small cut on her bruised cheek where his gauntlet had caught her. Her eyes flickered with malice as he met them but he nodded not seeing any signs of possession, Templar senses not picking up on anything unusual.

“Phylactery,” he ordered and held out a hand before pulling his knife. Nira instinctually leaned away from him making him smirk as he crouched to the ground in front of her.

“If I undo your cuffs will you be good?” he asked dangling the key.

“As long as your Templars are,” she snarled at him.

He chuckled darkly reaching around to undo her cuffs, purposely encompassing her. He felt her breath brush against his neck, a rather pleasant feeling, Cullen thought. He let her rub her wrists before taking one of her hands and putting the edge of his blade to her palm.

“I’m going to take a sample of your blood,” he told her.

“And why are you going to do that?” she asked back.

“To make your phylactery. If ever you try to run from the Tower, we will be able to track you down.”

“Blood magic? You’re using fucking _blood magic_ to keep mages in line?” She snorted and shook her head. “Your Chantry is all sorts of fucked up. Gonna conjure demons next for bodyguards?”

He tightened his hold on her hand but her eyes just flashed and she smiled.

“Want to hit me again, Knight-Commander?” she taunted and he sliced hard into her palm letting his anger open it much more than was necessary.

She cried out but before she could pull it back he scooped the pooling blood into the phylactery and sealed it off. Nira yanked her hand out of his grasp before he felt her calling upon her fucking magic.

Cullen growled and dispelled the area before Silencing her, slowly draining her mana pool as she fell forward onto him at the shock of it.

“What did I fucking tell you?” he snarled and fisted her hair, pulling her head up dazed and unsteady, her non-bloodied hand flat against his breastplate. Fury encompassed him. “What were you trying to cast?”

“Heal – healing magic,” she said between breaths and he let her go. She wretched, blood and Lyrium spilling out onto the stones next to her.

“Fuck,” she muttered wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before looking up at him with confusion and fire in her eyes. “What in the Void is wrong with you?”

“You cast when you have permission to cast and no sooner,” he hissed.

“I had no idea humans could be any more disgusting,” she spat at him holding up the hand he had cut into, blood seeping from the wound staining her arm and tunic, her fingers limp and nearly white. He hadn’t realized how hard he must have pressed his knife down, how small her hands were in comparison to his.

“Just trying to save my hand, or would you like to take that too?” her eyes were full of fury but they shone with unshed tears and her voice broke on the last word.

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose.

_Shit._

“Take Nira to her new quarters and send up a healer,” he said wearily.

As the Grand Enchanter helped the elf up gently, patting her arm in a grandfatherly fashion and murmuring soft words she didn’t meet his eyes again.

Cullen thought back on the day… she had been beaten and captured by Templars, threatened with the Rite of Tranquility, forced into the Harrowing mere hours later only for him to beat her again and then slice her palm open to the tendons, all because he had neglected to give her time to learn the rules of the Tower. He thought of her fiery eyes and the upturn of her lips, of her sharp tongue and her breath on his neck.

_She just has to be a fucking mage._

“Nira, I apologize,” he said as she was led away.

“For which part?” she scoffed and left the room.


	3. Welcome

Nira pushed her tears back and converted them into anger as the Grand Enchanter opened a door to a private chamber, ushering her in gently. He had been kind to her throughout the whole ordeal, true sympathy in his eyes and she felt bad for making him apologize on her behalf earlier. When she tried to voice an apology of her own though the old man waved her off. 

“It’s a refreshing sight to see a mage stand up to Templars. Only,” he looked at her hand pointedly, “Push them too much and it could have dire consequences. Worse than that, my dear.” 

Nira sighed but nodded. Clearly there were some _anger_ issues among their ranks, but Nira wouldn’t be Nira if she didn’t push back when she was being pulled. 

It hadn’t been the first time her sharp tongue had gotten her into trouble, and Void take them, it wouldn’t be the last. 

“I don’t know how you can stand to be kept here,” she told the older mage who just looked at her sadly with a small smile. 

“Rest, child. I will send up a healer and tomorrow I will personally see to it that you are shown around,” he replied patting her arm gently before leaving without a sound. 

Nira sighed miserably, clenching her teeth at the sudden pain that shot through her hand when she turned around. She chased off the despair as she stared down at the mangled thing… she would never leave this damned place without being hunted by Templars. But dying outside these walls and taking a few of the pompous bastards with her would be a better fate than submitting to the boorish whoresons. 

Nira sneered when she thought of the Knight-Commander, a golden man who had tried to hide his surprise when she showed no fear in front of him. Amused amber eyes, delicious looking scar on his lip… complete and utter asshole. 

In truth she had been testing how far she could make him tick. Her only true fear was being made Tranquil, dead-eyed and cut off from the Fade. She shuddered at the thought and looked around the room. 

It had simple furnishings, a bed, a desk, a washing basin with a small mirror and a dresser. A large window with blue drapes taunted her; this room was much too far off the ground for her to consider escaping that way. She noticed two robes, red and blue like the ones the mages wore, a night shift, several bars of soap, a towel and a hairbrush lay on her bed. 

She snorted, looking at the robes – did they truly think she would be so obedient as to put it on? 

“Don’t get comfortable with me,” she told the room flatly and jumped when someone spoke behind her. 

“I think it’s the other way around.” The voice was rich and kind, a hint of laughter in it and when she turned the man’s eyes also held laughter. That is until he saw her face, bruised and bloodied, and her hand nearly cut in two, and the mirth was replaced with something between disgust and anger. 

“Healer?” she asked with a small upturn of her lips. 

The man nodded and stepped towards her. 

“May I?” he asked prompting her to gingerly hold out her hand. He studied it for a moment before she felt his magic prick her skin, not unpleasantly, but strange. Nira had never felt another’s magic on her, always opting to heal her own cuts and bruises and make nice with any fellow apostates – few and far between – she might have come across. 

“I’m Nira,” she said studying the man more as he concentrated on knitting her flesh back together. It was an uncomfortable feeling, if not downright painful, but Nira was so wound up from the events of the day what was another layer of pain? She flinched and bit her lip anyways, distracting herself by studying the healer.

He had light brown hair that curved around the nape of his neck and curled underneath his ears, dark stubble peppered his face and his blue eyes were attentive, his hands large but soft. 

He was nice to look at, Nira decided, her eyes flitting down his form slightly hidden by the terrible mage robes they all wore. He was broad of chest and she could see spending a few nights in those arms had she met him outside the Tower. Even if he was a human. 

“Cillian,” he replied and finished repairing her broken palm, his magic softly leaving her skin. “What did you do to get the Knight-Commander so worked up about?” 

“Oh, well, I don’t know if you can tell but, I’m a mage,” she shrugged and smiled when he chuckled. Nira stretched her hand opening and closing it to get the blood flowing back into her fingers. A scar stretched across her palm now, unavoidable considering the depth of the cut, but Nira didn’t mind, it was just another to add to her collection. 

“Thanks,” she said looking back up at him. He studied her for a moment and Nira let him. 

“So, don’t get comfortable with you?” he asked reaching out to cup her chin in his hand. She jerked back before feeling the sting of his fingers on her cheek and remembering the probably impressive bruise that was colouring it. 

“I’m not going live out the rest of my days in some dingy tower only casting when some hyped-up brute tells me I can,” she replied scornfully but added as an afterthought, “No offense.” 

“None taken. I wasn’t born here either,” Cillian responded and she didn’t miss the sad look in his eyes as he released her pulling out a potion from the pouch at his belt.

“I thought I would escape the first chance I got too,” he handed her the vial. “That was nearly six years ago now.”

His blue eyes found hers again and they softened as he gave her a sad smile. 

“Best be careful, Nira. They don’t bother me much anymore because I can heal, but you’re a small beautiful elf already on the Knight-Commander’s bad side?” He shook his head and huffed dropping his hand to his side. 

“Keep your head down for the next little bit and maybe I can find you a slot working with me in the infirmary.” He gave her hand a small squeeze and turned to leave. 

“Thanks, Cillian,” she said as his hand reached for the door. 

“Sure. But infirmary work means healing everyone – even Templars.” 

“No not for that, for calling me beautiful,” her eyes glinted as she shot him a wink. “I don’t plan on staying around long enough to play doctor.” 

“Be careful, Nira,” Cillian warned solemnly before slipping out. 

Nira fell into the bed, lumpy but with clean sheets, though she would have slept on the hard stone floor if it meant getting some shut eye. After downing the potion Cillian had left her and feeling the throbbing in her face subside, she allowed herself to shed a few tears before falling into the Fade. 

 

-x-

 

Cullen could not get Nira out of his head. When he closed his eyes at night he dreamed of green eyes burning with fury before darkening with lust as he took her every way he desired. But even after relieving himself, stroking so hard it hurt, she would still be at the back of his mind. Her dark wild hair, her unrelenting gaze, her delicate pointed ears… the unshed tears in her eyes the last time he had seen her. 

Growling, Cullen gave up on the report he was working on grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

He hadn’t caught sight of her since her Harrowing nearly a fortnight ago and it was driving him increasingly crazy. But the Knight-Commander had no business patrolling mage quarters at night. 

He could though, no one would question him. He could go straight up to her chambers, enter without knocking and take her without anyone lifting a finger against him. Well, except her probably, he smirked remembering the fire in her eyes. 

He was seriously considering taking a break to find an elf at the Blooming Rose when Arwel came storming into his office snarling about the “fucking knife ear bitch”. 

Cullen stood up at his desk and taking it for anger at his barging in Arwel straightened and shut his mouth instantly. 

“Beg your pardon, Knight-Commander,” he said in a somewhat chastened tone. 

“What were you saying?” Cullen asked leaning his hands on his large desk. 

“That knife-ear me and Garrick brought in, you know the one with -,” Cullen nodded and gestured for him to keep going impatiently. 

“Well, she fuckin’ lit one of the store rooms on fire, Ser.” 

Cullen was silent for a moment. 

“And why did she do that?” he asked making Arwel bristle. 

“Knight-Commander I don’t think the why matters so much as the fact she used magic without supervision,” he answered, irritation ripe in his tone. 

Cullen sighed, the man was right he supposed. Still, Nira must have had a reason; he had made it perfectly clear how tolerable they would be with her casting without being told to. 

“Tell me what happened,” Cullen barked out and Arwel straightened again. The man was getting on his nerves. 

“The boys were just messing around,” he shrugged and Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. It was bound to happen, he supposed, she was a prime target with no allies and no ‘deal’ with any of the Templars yet. Why hadn’t he considered it before? Warned everyone away. 

“Where is she now?” Cullen asked gritting his teeth.

“In the dungeons, Ser.”

“Bring her to me,” Cullen growled but Arwel didn’t move prompting the Knight-Commander to narrow his eyes. He was getting close to being furious now. 

“She… uh, that’s to say… well some of the boys went down with her, made sure she settled into the dungeon,” the Templar didn’t raise his eyes from the ground, Cullen’s anger permeating throughout the room. 

“Then bring me to her,” he ordered darkly.


	4. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Attempted non-con, violence

Nira had been surprised at first at how many mages there were living in the Tower, children included. 

The morning after her Harrowing a cheery older woman with grey hair and kind eyes knocked on her door introducing herself as Megs. She had chatted on and on about the Tower and its “various activities” showing Nira all the classrooms where experienced mages taught apprentices, where students of all ages conducted research and where magic was actually permitted. Ever under the watchful eye of Templars, of course. 

Everything was a shared space – shared dining hall, shared baths, shared strolls in the garden. It irked Nira, used to being on her own - at least for the past few years - and enjoying it that way, but she always had her "private" chambers to fall back on, a small mercy she supposed. Even if there was no lock and even if they weren't actually _hers_. 

The library had been perhaps the only redeeming quality of the Tower, shelves stacked so high with books Nira had to nearly bend back to see the top of them. Her tour guide had let her pick out a few after showing her how they kept track. All so organized.

Lastly Megs had taken her to the infirmary “in case you ever feel under the weather or have had a… fall” she smiled. Nira was just about to ask if the older woman planned on killing her when she caught sight of Cillian tending to a patient, his gaze looking up briefly to catch hers and grace her with a smile. She returned it waving back, but then she was being scurried out onto the next mind-numbing sight. 

It was, ironically, anything but. 

The Tranquils currently were busy doing tedious tasks like sorting through inventories or updating records. She felt a wave of nausea roll over her and was glad when Megs seemed to feel the same averting her eyes and ushering her along. 

So, she had gotten the tour, had been given the rules and was slowly forming a plan in her mind on how to get the fuck out of there. At night she would enter the Fade and search for answers, a way out, a friendly spirit, anything. But just as the Tower was buzzing with fear, so too was its twin within the Fade. 

Two tiresome weeks went by and Nira was still planning on escaping even if it meant her death, but her hope was beginning to wane with each day. She even found herself helping other mage's with their tasks, entertaining the children with stories, sometimes stopping in at the infirmary to restock supplies while chatting up Cillian. He always had a knowing, almost sympathetic, look in his eyes though and she would always leave feeling irritated and forlorn. 

She was certainly irritated now, muttering to herself and closing up the store room when she felt a large gauntleted hand push between her shoulder blades making her go sprawling back into the space. 

When she righted herself and whipped around she was met with four grinning Templars, recognizing the two who had brought her in. They closed the door behind them as they crowded into the space, tall shelves of bandages and dried Elfroot the only witnesses. 

_Great._

“Hello little knife ear,” one of them sneered. Fury and fear encompassed her heart, mind racing as she backed up. 

Keep them talking, keep them distracted, keep them _away._

“Hullo,” she responded and leaned back as casually as she could manage against the wall. 

That took them aback for a moment and she used the miniscule amount of time to formulate some sort of plan. Which, apparently ended up being fire. Just, fire. 

Unfortunately, she had underestimated their capacity for rational thought and as soon as the creases were wiped from their brows, Nira was hit with a Silence, her mana being drained at a sickening rate.

Fortunately, she had managed to get one fireball off before she was bending down preparing to empty the contents of her stomach… 

Unfortunately, said fireball was pathetically small and did not hit any of the four targets… 

Fortunately, they were in a closet full of dried Elfroot and equally dry bandages.

“Why don’t you be a good little mage and co-,” one of the Templars began with a laugh before the storeroom began filling with smoke and shortly after one of the shelves was alight, setting off a chain reaction as the flames licked at their surroundings. 

Nira didn’t have time to laugh but she did let out a small snort before ducking down and squeezing her way out of the storeroom, adrenaline making up for her half-drained mana pool. Her first instinct was to run towards the infirmary, but she hesitated thinking of the four angry Templars storming in after her and Cillian’s blue eyes. 

The moment of hesitation cost her dearly, when a hand yanked hard on her wrist and she was pulled back into a breast plate, the wind knocked from her as sharp gauntlets fisted in her hair and tore into her arms. 

Nira called on her magic again and was promptly hit with a nasty Smite making her fall back into the arms of her assailant, her vision going white for a moment. _Scream, Nira._

She opened her mouth and took a big gulp of air before a gauntlet clamped down on it, its metallic taste blending in with that all too familiar taste of her own blood. 

“Maker’s arse, the fucking store room is on fire,” one of the Templars growled followed by yet another gauntlet crashing into her abdomen making her double over and wretch. She was given no reprieve however, her scalp burning as her hair was tugged back keeping her upright, bloodied mess that she was. 

Her vision was beginning to blur but she blinked it back. 

_Focus. Fight._

“Arwel, go tell the Knight-Commander, we'll bring her down to the dungeons, make sure she gets _settled in_ ,” the one with a firm grip said into her ear, his breath hot on the side of her face. She grunted and tried to kick back but her foot bounced uselessly off his greaves, and _shit how did you let this happen?_

“Why the fuck do I have to do it?” 

“It’s your watch idiot, you don’t tell him now and you’ll be knee deep in nug-shit later on.”

Nira heard the Templar, Arwel, growl and depart, the loud clanging of his heavy boots on the stone, her mind racing even as her body began to tire. The Knight-Commander was an ass, but he had seemed… _seemed what, Nira? He sliced your hand open and locked you up._

The relentless grip on her hair didn’t let up all the way down to the depths of the cursed Tower until she was thrown face first into a cell. An involuntary cry left her as she felt her teeth clamping down on her lips, snapped shut from the fall. She whipped around though, a little unsteadily, a lot bloody, and _hissed_ at the encroaching Templars. 

“Feisty little knife-ear, isn’t she?”

They laughed as they circled her, surrounding her on all three sides as Nira was backed up, once again, against an unrelenting fucking wall. 

The first gauntlet that grabbed out for her she managed to duck away from but backed right into a second. She struggled against the vise-like grip around her arm and was rewarded with a smack. It felt different though and she realized it had been a bare hand. Nira stopped struggling for a moment much to the amusement of the Templars. 

Skin was something she could attack, something she could sink her teeth into and grip with her nails. 

Something that would bleed. 

She was beginning to feel sluggish, the effects of her low mana pool catching up with her. 

_Focus._

“Think you can just attack a Templar and get away with it?” the Templar to her right sneered receiving a low growl in return. His hands reached out and Nira sunk her nails into one of his arms before biting down _hard_ on whatever part of him she had caught. The Templar roared trying to tear his arm from her, a blow to her stomach sending her coughing to the floor, the taste of his blood still on her tongue. 

“You little shit!” 

She was all teeth and nails before they pinned her down as she felt the rest of her already miniscule amount of mana seep away. They were panting now with the exertion and Nira let herself smile at the small victory even as she felt her consciousness receding, even as she felt the edges of her vision start to go black. So, this was how it was going to end. And she hadn’t even been the one to instigate it. 

_Fucking shame, that._

“Enough!” a booming voice roared, echoing off the stones that she swore resonated beneath her. 

“Release her. Now,” the dangerous baritone demanded as the Templars stuttered with explanations that were quickly silenced. “Half-rations of Lyrium for two weeks. Get out of my fucking sight.” 

Nira remained on the cold stones, her chest heaving with breaths that were never quite enough to fill burnings lungs. She had felt like this once before, after bandits had attacked in the Planasene Forest. By the end of the fight she was bleeding from at least five different places but it was her mana that hurt the most, so depleted she nearly passed out before shoving three Lyrium potions down her throat one after the other. It had been a horrible day but how she wished she were back there again, sunlight on her face and wind in her hair… morning dew, cool on her fingers as birdsong surrounded her, the scent of the earth as her nails dug into the ground…

As the images were conjured in her mind, Nira did something she had never done before in her life; she surrendered. 

 

-x-

 

Cullen watched as her eyes fluttered shut, cursing at how low her mana was. He scooped her up and rushed back out of the dungeons heading straight for his office, nearly vibrating with fury. 

When he had come down with the Knight-Captain and two of his best men at his side he nearly drew his sword and cut the three men down then and there. The look on their faces when they realized he was in the room would have been almost comical were it not such an infuriating situation. 

If they thought half-rations of Lyrium for two weeks was all that was coming for them, they were sorely mistaken. 

Cullen kicked open his door and knocked aside a few papers and scattered objects reaching for the stores of Lyrium he kept. Without releasing the elf who had gone frighteningly limp in his arms he opened the vial with his mouth and put it to her lips. They had paled from their previous pink, and she was unresponsive as the first drop touched her bottom lip sliding down her chin, mixing with her blood. 

“Maker’s fucking breath,” he sat down and repositioned her on his lap so he could open her mouth with his other hand and poured a small amount of Lyrium in, releasing a breath he hadn’t known he was holding when her eyelids fluttered and she swallowed. He poured more in emptying the vial and grabbing another. 

“That’s it, lass, there you go,” he encouraged softly releasing her mouth and putting the vial to her lips. She finished three full vials before colour started to come back to her and he wiped away some of the blood from another cut lip and a worrisome looking gash above her left brow. He would have to take her to the infirmary after all.

When her eyes opened and found his, for a moment they were soft, almost gentle, but then she blinked and there it was, that fire that had captivated him so. 

“Great operation you run here, Knight-Commander,” she rasped weakly and he couldn’t help but smirk, relief ripe in his chest. 

“Are you alright?” Cullen suddenly became very aware of the feel of her in his lap, her head resting on his thigh. He decided he liked it quite a bit.

“Just fucking peachy,” she responded, a hint of venom in her voice, but she was still too weak to sit up so he took a few moments to look down at her, mussed hair and bruised skin. 

Nira narrowed her eyes at him and Cullen felt his lips quirk up, amusement overtaking concern. 

_Fucking mages._

“Let’s get you to the infirmary,” he said standing up easily with her in his arms. 

“Your lackeys?”

“Will be punished thoroughly.”

“Thoroughly, hey? Almost sounds like you're defending a mage,” she responded in a rasp making Cullen snort. He looked down at her, cradled in his arms and bleeding, and still her eyes were fierce when he met them, her tongue sharp though it bled. Something dark and possessive began unfurling within him.

“I really am sorry,” he told her as he walked.

“How gallant of you.” 

He clenched his jaw but didn’t say anything more and neither did she. When he entered the infirmary, he caught the eye of one of the mages, a healer, beckoning him over with his head but he was already rushing over, his eyes on Nira. 

“Maker’s breath, Nira, what happened?” he asked, voice ripe with concern and Cullen felt his eyes narrow at the familiar tone. She reached her arms out, the healer shooting him a quick glance before taking her into his.

“Friendly chat with a couple of Templars,” she murmured into his robes peeking back up once at Cullen with an unreadable expression in her eyes and then turning her face back and into the healer’s chest. 

“Knight-Commander,” he nodded tersely before carrying her over to one of the beds. 

Cullen grit his teeth watching them for a moment more, the healer’s hand on her back as she told him something, and then he was cupping her cheek and sending magic into her skin healing wounds that were once again, his fault.


End file.
